


Musain Musical

by carmellax



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, M/M, You Have Been Warned, also might add that some relationships are going to be like super slow-burn, i'm self-indulgently mixing my two favourite musicals in one unholy mess, it's a high school musical au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmellax/pseuds/carmellax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius Pontmercy, basketball prodigy, meets Cosette Fauchelevent at a ski lodge on New Year's Eve. Could it be the start of something new?</p><p>Yes, this is a High School Musical AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Start of Something New

**Author's Note:**

> first of all, allow me to apologise

It was New Year’s Eve, and the ski resort at Megève was twinkling prettily beneath the night sky. A clean dusting of snow had recently fallen, and now the wooden buildings looked sleepy and soft beneath their fresh blanket; the heavy clouds had given way to stars; and smoke rose lazily from several chimneys.  It was a scene straight from a Cadbury’s chocolate box.

All of this was lost to Marius Pontmercy, because he’d been stuck on the lodge’s basketball court for the past two hours.

The teenaged boy looked to be ending the year the same way that he had spent it: shooting hoops under the critical eye of his grandfather, Gillenormand. Shooting hoops was all he ever seemed to do. That, and getting yelled at by Gillenormand. Despite his incredible age, the old man was still remarkably agile. And vocal.

“Foolish boy! Your stance is all wrong. Bend your legs more. You call _that_ bending? Bend those legs or I will bend them for you!”

Marius sighed and adjusted his posture to something more suitable. It didn’t seem to matter that he was the best basketball player on his school team (a fact which was a source of constant surprise to anyone who looked at the lanky youth); nothing he did was ever good enough for his grandfather. They’d been practising for ages by now, and Marius was feeling ready to drop.

It wasn’t that he disliked basketball – in fact, being good at basketball was one of the few talents that he possessed, and he really did enjoy the rush of playing alongside his teammates, working against an opposing force towards victory. However, there was something altogether different about training alone, accompanied only by the insults from his grandfather, and the knowledge that all of his friends would be spending their evening together, at some wonderful New Year’s party.

 “Concentrate, Marius,” growled Gillenormand, waving his cane menacingly.

Marius returned his focus to the basket hanging above him, and launched the ball towards it. He scored. He almost always did.

Just as he was retrieving the ball to take another shot, their practise session was interrupted by his Aunt Gillenormand.

“Ah, my lovely daughter,” Gillenormand said, stretching his arms emphatically in a gesture of welcome. “Come to scold me, I expect?”

“You promised that there’d be no basketball this evening,” she said accusingly. “Or have you forgotten about the party at the lodge?”

Gillenormand harrumphed, checking his watch. “Yes, yes, I suppose it’s almost time to leave.” He glanced at Marius, who was still stood holding the basketball. “Marius can shoot one more basket, though.”

“Marius needs to shower, if he wants to go to the kids’ party,” Aunt Gillenormand pointed out.

Marius felt his heart sink. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than spending New Year’s Eve with a roomful of pre-teen strangers. Apart, maybe, from spending New Year’s Eve playing basketball with his grandfather.

“You’ll have fun,” said Aunt Gillenormand, seeing his grimace.

He doubted it.

 

\---

 

Cosette didn’t go to parties often: she and her adoptive father moved frequently, and she’d never had much opportunity to make the sort of friends that invite one to a party. In many ways, her father – a colossal man, named Jean Valjean – was her best friend. She knew that it was a bit sappy, but it was true. The pair of them did everything together, spent all of their free time together, and confided freely in one another, without the usual boundaries between parent and child.  Consequently, Cosette sometimes felt out-of-touch with kids of her own age: she was used to being an adult, not a child.

This party tonight, however, she would have to face without him. It was scary. But it was also exhilarating.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to the adults’ party, Cosette?” asked her father, straightening his enormous yellow jacket in the mirror.

“I’ll be fine, Papa,” Cosette assured him, nervously flicking through a maths book as she waited. It was hard not to fidget in anticipation. “I’ll find you straight after midnight, and I have my mobile to text you if I need you before then. Besides, you’ll only be in the next building over.”

Valjean chuckled at her earnest tone. “Of course, dear; you’re quite right. I’m just a silly old worrier.”

Cosette shook her head fondly, and then stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be off now,” she told him.

“Have a nice time. And be careful!”

“You be careful, too,” said Cosette, sticking out her tongue as she twirled from the room. Valjean’s laughter followed her down the corridor.

 

\---

 

By the time Marius had showered, and changed out of his basketball kit into something slightly more appropriate (a cardigan and jeans – he had no idea what people wore to this kind of thing), the party was in full swing. As predicted, a sea of small children filled most of the hall, running around and shrieking as they played whatever hellish party game had been devised for the occasion. Several gaggles of older teenagers formed islands of relative tranquillity, but the badly-disguised bottles of alcohol clutched in their hands told Marius that they weren’t his kind of people. A low table in the centre of the hall was acting as stage for a pair of girls, who were murdering an ABBA song. The whole scene was horrific.

Marius edged gingerly around the room, trying to find a quiet corner in which to wait it out. Presumably his grandfather would come to fetch him eventually.

After a lot of pushing and shoving, he managed to secure a spot against a pillar, where he could slouch and watch the room until it was time to leave.

As he settled in, the karaoke-singers mercifully reached the end of their song. There was a smattering of unenthusiastic applause, and then a member of staff climbed up beside them on the stage.

“Thank you, ladies,” said the man, his voice nothing more than background noise to Marius. “That was wonderful. Now, who’s next? Nobody? Then we’ll just have to pick someone!”  He sounded far too happy about it.

Quite suddenly, Marius was bathed in a bright light, as if God had reached down and singled him out. God, or the spot-light guy.

“Boy in the blue cardigan. You’re up!”

Marius’ legs instantly went all wobbly, as every gaze in the room turned eagerly upon him. He could already feel his face burning as he tried to object, but hands began to tug at his clothing, and he had to follow their direction to avoid falling flat on his face. There were a few cheers as he stumbled up to the stage, and then a microphone was being thrust into his palms, which had – to his horror – become very sweaty.

“What’s your name, kid?” asked the man.

“Pontmercy,” Marius mumbled, trying not to see the crowd of people staring up at him. “Marius Pontmercy.”

He studied his feet determinedly as the man babbled something about duets to the room, cursing in his head. This was utterly ridiculous: Marius, sing karaoke? He barely sang in the shower, for fear that his grandfather would tease him for doing something girly – how could he possibly sing in front of hundreds of strangers? And as for his grandfather… Marius grimaced. Gillenormand would have an absolute field day if he heard about this. Marius wouldn’t live it down for months.

He was so focused on his lamentations that he didn’t realise a duet partner was being selected, until she appeared beside him on the stage. He was far too nervous to look up and see who she was – it hardly mattered, seeing as he didn’t know anyone at the party.

There was another round of cheering, and then the music started. It was some pop song that Marius knew vaguely, but nothing that he particularly liked. He did just about manage to force his gaze up to the screen that hung over-head, scanning the glowing words that seemed almost to wriggle before his eyes. Maybe if he could just get through the first verse, he’d be allowed to leave.

As the lyrics started to change colour, indicating that he should sing, Marius tentatively began. His voice sounded waver-y in his ears, and he knew that he was slightly out of time. When he reached the end of the first few lines, he turned to slink away.

And then she sang.

Suddenly, the room was filled with the sweetest voice he’d ever heard: crystal clear, high and delicate, it seemed to enchant the very air around him. It was purer than the voice of an angel.

Marius turned to the singer.

She was a perfect embodiment of her voice: beautiful, of course, but in a mesmerising, incandescent way. Her eyes were closed as she sang, as if she, too, was under the spell cast by her vocals, and her fair eyelashes quivered like a resting butterfly’s wings. Her lips formed an almost-smile around the words that floated from them.

Marius became aware that he was meant to be singing again, and hurriedly fumbled the microphone back towards his mouth in order to join her. It seemed a pity to ruin her performance by adding himself into it, but he felt an overwhelming urge to extend his time stood next to the girl, and this was the only way he could think to do so.

As Marius resumed the duet, he found that her voice was something of an anchor, and he managed to find the right pitch this time.

When they’d finished, the girl opened her eyes, and looked right into his. He fell in love.

 

\---

 

Cosette grinned at her duet partner as he helped her down from the stage, glad that he was finally meeting her eyes – he had been too shy, or too reserved at the beginning of the song to return her wave of greeting, and she’d initially assumed that he hated performing. When he’d started to sing, she’d realised her mistake.

He said something to her, but she couldn’t hear it properly over the hubbub of the room. She shook her head, gesturing to her ears, and then pointed to the double-doors on the other side of the crowd. The boy – Cosette hadn’t quite caught his name over the din – nodded in understanding.

They moved through the room, jostled every which-way by energetically dancing pre-teens, until finally they reached the doors. Outside, there was a balcony area, covered in glistering snow.

Cosette stepped outside, letting out a gasp as the cold air buzzed at her cheeks. Her nose immediately went numb, and she knew that it must be turning raspberry red in the centre of her face. She turned to the boy, giggling at the flush which had taken hold of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Whether it was due to the weather or her presence was anybody’s guess.

“I’m called Marius,” he said, his breath coming out in clouds.

An image sprung to Cosette’s mind: she and her mother playing outside in the cold, pretending to be dragons. She had the sudden urge to roar, to spread her arms and mime flying. “I’m Cosette,” she said instead, watching her words turn to steam as she created them.

They spoke until their fingers were burning in the arctic air, until Cosette’s throat had gone hoarse, until their teeth were chattering like castanets around their voices. They spoke about Marius’ grandfather, basketball, and his friends. They spoke about Cosette’s father, maths, and her chain of different schools. Most of all, they spoke about singing.

“I never sing in public,” Marius admitted, “I think my friends would tease me about it. They’re great people, but they’d think it was girly or something. I’m the basketball guy, not the singing guy.”

Cosette nodded in sympathy. “I once tried out for a choir,” she said, “back when I went to this Catholic all-girls school; I was so nervous that I nearly fainted! It was all of those people looking at me.”

“But you were amazing tonight.”

“That was the first time I’ve tried anything like it,” Cosette told him. “It was surprisingly fun, though.”

Marius laughed. “It really was. God, if my grandfather could have seen me…”

“I’m sure Papa would have had a heart-attack to see me in proximity to a boy, let alone the singing.”

They both giggled again.

As they stood there, shivering and giggling and gazing into one another’s eyes, the sound of voices came from inside. Cosette strained her ears: they were counting down. Had she and Marius really been outside for that long? It was no wonder that she could barely feel her limbs!

They both joined in on the last few numbers, speaking them in unison.

“Three… Two… One…”

The cry of “Happy New Year!” rang out, and – right on cue – a flash of magenta heralded the beginning of a firework display.

Cosette looked at Marius, his face thrown into strange relief by the unnatural lights, and he looked at her. She had the sudden impression that he might kiss her, following the New Year’s tradition. Surprisingly, she didn’t think that she’d mind if he did.

He coughed, and then quickly leaned forwards to peck her cheek. It wasn’t quite a New Year’s kiss, but it still sent a tiny thrill through Cosette’s stomach. She felt herself blushing, and Marius coughed again and shuffled his feet embarrassedly.

“Thank you, Marius,” she said, not quite sure what she was thanking him for. For the singing; for keeping her company; for the kiss: all of it was worthy of thanks.

He smiled shyly, and it was adorable.

They turned to watch the fireworks for a few moments, before Cosette’s mind dredged up her promise to her father. “Oh no, I’ve just remembered that I have to go!” she said, stepping towards the door. It was already a few minutes past – Valjean would be worrying if she waited much longer to find him.

“Wait,” said Marius, holding out a hand as if he wanted to pull her back. “Wait, can I have your number?” He fumbled in his jeans’ pocket, and withdrew a phone.

Cosette took it from him, handing over her own in return, and quickly entered herself as a contact. It was a good job that Valjean had made her memorise her number, because there wouldn’t have been time to fuss over searching for it in her address book.

“Thanks,” said Marius, when she’d finished, “I’ll text you. I promise!”

Cosette nodded, “I really have to go now. I’ll see you around, Marius.”

It felt wrong to leave him there, alone in the snow, but it was seven minutes past midnight and she didn’t want her father to panic and call security. She hurried away, glancing back once to see him, still stood on the balcony, his bright breath forming a halo around him. In her stomach, she felt that small, fluttering thrill again, as delicate as a butterfly’s wings. It felt like the start of something – something sweet, and exciting, and new.


	2. Get'cha Head in the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marius returns to school, to find that a very familiar girl has joined the student body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry it's taken me so long to update this i have been busy and lazy, as is my wont. thanks for waiting!!

For most teenagers, the first day back after winter break is a horrific drag. For Marius, it was a veritable relief: the chance to avoid his grandfather; more time to spend with his friends; and basketball practice with teammates. If it weren’t for the looming certainty of homework, it would have been perfect.

Marius hopped off of the school bus with a bounce in his step. He didn’t make it more than five feet before several excited teenage boys were upon him.

Courfeyrac was the first to reach him: a fellow member of the basketball team, and one of Marius’ best friends. “Marius!” he crowed, positively leaping into his arms. “I missed you so much. How was the vacation? You have to tell me all about it – I want to hear _everything_.”

Marius, laughed, batting his friend away, and then exchanged several slightly-less-physical greetings with Courfeyrac’s entourage. There was Grantaire, sporting a new haircut which had been unable to tame his unruly tangles; Bahorel, whose ears had acquired yet more piercings; and Bossuet, with stitches in his forehead, indicating that the vacation from basketball had done nothing to reduce his impressive emergency room visitation statistics. These three, along with Courfeyrac and Marius, made up the five starters of Musain High’s basketball team. They were closer to Marius than a family. Not that it was hard to be closer to him than _his_ family, but – even if his relatives had been entirely normal – he would still have been closer to his teammates.

“I’ve been thinking up some new tactics,” Grantaire informed them all, tugging Marius towards the school building by the sleeve of his letterman jacket. “We’re sure to win the championships this time round – we have to be the best team that Musain High’s seen in decades.”

Bahorel walloped Grantaire on the back in agreement. “It’s going to be a happy New Year.”

“What team?” asked Bossuet, grinning.

Everyone rolled their eyes, but obligingly gave the response: “Wild Coqs!”

Marius suspected that the team name was just an excuse for everyone to shout ‘cocks’ as often as possible, but he still felt a burning pride in his chest whenever he heard it. Sure, the Gallic rooster wasn’t the most ferocious of mascots, but it was _their_ mascot.

As they reached the school’s entrance, the boys were cut off by the sashaying figure of Éponine Thénardier.

She breezed past them with a smug look, elbowing Grantaire out of the way, and not forgetting to spare a wink for Marius. Moments later, she was followed by her cousin, Montparnasse. He also spared a wink for Marius, although Marius assumed that this one contained more mockery than its predecessor.

“I see the ice princess has returned,” said Grantaire, rubbing his shoulder grumpily. “Is it possible to be any more full of yourself?”

“She’s not that bad,” said Courfeyrac, watching Éponine’s retreating shape.

Bahorel chuckled. “You would say that.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She may have a pretty face,” said Bahorel, “but don’t let it blind you to the evil within.”

“Maybe I’m seeing even further within,” reasoned Courfeyrac. “Maybe it’s layered. Like: pretty, and then evil, and then under that is more pretty. Deep down.”

“How deep?” asked Bossuet. “Are we speaking in terms of, say, a grave, or in terms of ice core drilling?”

Courfeyrac waved a hand vaguely. “Oh, you know, somewhere in between. Like sedimentary rocks – somewhere beneath the evil and the narcissism and the self-righteousness.”

“Speaking of self-righteousness,” muttered Grantaire.

Marius followed his gaze to see a group of people gathered around a notice-board. At first, he didn’t see what Grantaire meant, but then he spotted the obvious cause of the comment: a blonde haired, pamphlet-carrying, red-shirted cause. This was Enjolras – a boy who was almost as politicised as he was terrifying. Marius found him unbelievably intimidating. Grantaire simply found him unbelievable.

“I wonder what his next big project is,” Grantaire snickered. “Recycling tap-water? Humane flytraps? An all-vegan lunch menu?”

As if on cue, Enjolras raised his voice above the chatter of his audience. “Subsidised textbooks,” he declared, thrusting a bundle of papers at the bespectacled boy beside him.

Grantaire’s eyebrows climbed gleefully up his forehead. “That’s almost as good,” he told Marius. “As if everyone hasn’t already purchased the year’s textbooks. What a joke.”

Enjolras must have heard this last remark, as he fixed Marius and his friends with a glare that would have made even Medusa quake in her boots.

“You haven’t bought your textbooks yet, Grantaire,” Bossuet reasoned, once they had removed themselves from the danger-zone. He pointed to the basketball that Grantaire held tucked under one arm, which made up the extent of his school supplies.

“He doesn’t count,” said Bahorel.

“Rude!” Grantaire chucked the basketball at Bahorel’s head, but the other boy managed to duck just in time.

Courfeyrac swooped in to grab it, and spun it on one finger with a smile of pride. “Oh hey,” he said nonchalantly, “I heard that a new girl’s joining our homeroom.”

“Hmm,” said Bahorel. “Pretty?”

“Don’t know yet,” said Courfeyrac. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Marius had mostly tuned out of the conversation by this point, already thinking ahead to the first training session of the term, which was scheduled for that lunchtime. He half-listened to Courfeyrac’s speculations about the new girl, but without much interest – whoever she was, he doubted that her addition to their homeroom group would have much effect upon his life.

 

\---

 

When you transfer between schools frequently, you begin to notice those things that are the same between them, and those things that differ. Explicit graffiti on lockers, for example, Cosette found to be a fundamental feature of any educational establishment. Chewing gum stuck to the underside of desks was another big one. Strip lights that seemed to need perpetual replacement. Head teachers who welcomed you with strained smiles.

Musain High School, however, brought Cosette’s carefully-constructed mental map crumbling down. When she walked through the doors, everything looked shiny and new. The few students she saw hurrying to class lacked the normal aura of fatigue. The head teacher’s desk was covered, not with boring-looking papers, but with basketball memorabilia. Cosette eyed it suspiciously as her father signed the last of the paperwork.

“We’ll be delighted to have your daughter among our student body,” the head teacher was telling Valjean. “Her track record is exceptional – she should do very well here at Musain High.”

Valjean thanked him proudly, beaming as he always did when Cosette received praise. Cosette herself couldn’t help but feel nervous about the whole thing. As much as she should have been used to starting at new schools by now, she always hated that initial transition period: not knowing anyone, getting lost, trying to live up to the expectations that came with her immaculate grades – it was a lot of pressure!

Her father reached out and patted her on the arm, evidently making a guess at her thoughts. “You’ll do wonderfully, Cosette,” he told her. “And I promise that I won’t be transferred again before your graduation.”

Cosette smiled at him. “I’m just a little worried about my grades. That’s all.”

“Transferring between schools always requires a period of catching up,” said the head teacher kindly, “and nobody will hold it against you if you’re behind at first. Really, though, if your past achievements are anything to go by, you have no need to worry.”

Cosette nodded, although that wasn’t what she had meant. What she had meant was that – wherever she had studied in the past – she’d been seen as a little bit _too_ clever. The label of ‘nerd’ had been prevalent throughout her high school experience, and sometimes she had been left out of other kids’ social groups because they assumed that her intelligence would make her stand-offish. All that she wanted was, for once, not to be known as a freaky genius girl. But she couldn’t say all of this to her new head teacher – she didn’t want to come across as arrogant.

“Just be yourself,” said Valjean. “Everyone will love you.”

“Of course,” said Cosette, sitting up straighter in her seat. “It’s impossible not to.” She only wished that she believed herself.

 

\---

 

When first bell rang, Marius and his teammates wended their way through the corridors, which were packed with students rushing to homeroom. The boys all shared a homeroom teacher; Javert (or “Professor Javert”, if you didn’t want a reprimand) was a terrifying man, who wore a ponytail and taught theatre studies with an iron-fist that would have put Stalin to shame. He was infamous for his strict observance of the school rules, and so his students took great pains always to be on time. Marius and his friends entered the room four minutes ahead of schedule, and were still the last to arrive.

Marius hurried over to his customary seat, dumping his bag on the desk and taking a quick glance around the room. Then he had to look again, because his eyes were relaying something very strange to his brain: at the back of the class, the normally-empty desk was now occupied by Courfeyrac’s ‘new girl’. And she was unquestionably the very same girl that he had met at the Megève ski resort. Cosette.

She didn’t appear to have seen him yet, but she was sure to recognise him if he went over to speak to her. Forgetting Javert’s insistence that every student be in their seat by the time that he entered the room, Marius abandoned his desk and took a step in the direction of Cosette.

His path was abruptly blocked.

“Hey, Marius,” said Éponine, a large grin plastered over her face. “Have a nice holiday?”

Marius tried unsuccessfully to bob around her, and then gave in. “Hi ‘Ponine,” he said resignedly. “It was okay. I spent most of it practising basketball, to be honest.”

“Of course – you’ve got some big games coming up, right?”

“Right,” he said, craning his neck in the hopes of catching another glimpse of Cosette around Éponine’s dramatic hair.

“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.”

Before he could dissuade her from the conversation, it was cut short by the sound of the classroom door opening. Éponine dropped into her seat instantly, and Marius hurriedly followed suit. Javert had arrived.

The man moved to the front of the classroom at his customary stride, and cleared his throat loudly, as if to attract the attention of his students, even though every eye was already turned his way and every teenager listening carefully. Even Bahorel knew better than to mess around in Javert’s classroom.

“I hope you all had an excellent holiday,” he began, “and would like to remind you that it is now over. The fun and games have ended, and I want every one of you to return your full attention to your schoolwork. I know that sometimes students think that the first week back doesn’t really count, but I can assure you that it does.” He paused to glower at the basketball on Grantaire’s desk. Grantaire placed it sheepishly onto the floor.

Javert nodded. “Now, a few announcements. Please make sure to check the noticeboard for information on new activities. I believe that Enjolras here,” Javert gestured in his direction, “is organising the school’s team for an upcoming scholastic decathlon competition, so look out for that. More importantly, of course, are the sign-ups for our next musicale. Singles and pairs auditions will be held on Wednesday, and I want to see as many people involved as possible. Although,” he added, tapping a hand on Bossuet’s desk, which was situated immediately at the front of the room, “ _some_ of you might be more suited to back-stage roles.”

 

\---

 

When the bell for first period rang, Cosette had to fumble in her bag for the timetable and campus map which she had been given that morning. She had no idea where she was going: her first lesson was meant to be chemistry, but she could make neither head nor tail of the room numbering system, and wasn’t even sure of the direction of the science block. She briefly considered asking Professor Javert for directions, but decided against it – he hadn’t struck her as the friendliest of teachers.

Deciding that she would just have to wing it, Cosette exited the classroom with her map in hand. However, before she had gone more than a few paces, she felt a hand tapping her on the back. She turned around, not sure of what to expect, and found herself faced with a boy. _No_ , not just any boy. It was Marius!

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed, almost dropping her map in surprise. “Marius! What are you doing here?”

“I go here,” he said, indicating his crimson letterman jacket, and then smiled brightly. “I think that I should be the one asking _you_ what _you’re_ doing here, if anything.”

“My dad just transferred here,” she told him, adjusting her armful of papers. “This is so weird. I tried finding you on New Years’ day, at the resort…”

“We had to leave first thing,” said Marius. “Here, let me help you with that.”

She handed him the map and timetable gratefully. “Thanks. I can’t understand the map at all – it looks like a load of squiggly lines to me!”

“Well, I’ll be happy to show you around,” said Marius, suddenly looking very shy. She noticed that his ears were turning red at the tips. Adorable. “Here, you have chem first. Well, I have maths, and they’re in almost the same direction, so that’s good. I can walk you right there.”

Cosette thanked him again, and allowed herself to be led through the unnervingly spacious, tastefully-decorated corridors.

As they passed the noticeboards in the foyer, Marius paused to read one. “The musical sign-ups,” he said. “Will you be putting your name down?”

Cosette laughed, shaking her head. “Now that I’ve met Professor Javert? Sure, I can’t wait! But really, I think that I’ll settle in before I try to join any new clubs. How about you?”

“Like I told you before, I don’t sing in public. Megève was definitely a one-time thing. Besides, with all the basketball training I have to do it would be impossible. I might watch the show, though.”

“You’d better,” came a female voice, and moments later the pair were intercepted by a short, brunette girl, who was wearing exciting eye-makeup that made her look a bit like a panda. A glamorous panda.

“Hi again,” said Marius, who obviously knew the girl. “Cosette, this is Éponine. ‘Ponine, this is Cosette – she joined our homeroom this morning. I was just showing her around.”

“That’s so _nice_ ,” said the girl, batting Marius’ shoulder with a hand and narrowing her eyes at Cosette.

Cosette had the distinct feeling that this ‘Éponine’ didn’t like her very much.

Éponine’s eyes moved to rest on the noticeboard next to which they were standing. “Oh! Looking at the audition list? Were you going to sign up, Cosette? Me and Montparnasse have played the leads in every production so far, but supporting cast are always needed. I bet you’d make a great chorus member.”

“Oh no,” Cosette assured her, “I was just looking.”

Éponine shrugged. “Suit yourself, new girl.” Then she produced a larger marker pen from her handbag (which struck Cosette as impractical – where did she keep her textbooks?) and scrawled her name across the auditions list. She stood back, admiring her work, and then replaced the pen. “Nice to see you Marius,” she said, “Talk to you later, right? And you _have_ to come to the musical.”

“Of course,” said Marius, and then mimed crossing his heart.

This seemed to satisfy Éponine, who turned and flounced away.

 

\---

 

Once Marius had accompanied Cosette to her chemistry class, and then dashed back across to his maths class (which was _not_ at all near the science block, despite what he’d told Cosette), he was really quite late.

“Not a good start to the term, Pontmercy,” his teacher tutted. “I’ll have to set you extra homework questions to make up.”

Marius thought that it had been worth it.

He didn’t get a chance to see Cosette for the rest of the day – not even at lunch, as the Wild Coqs had their first training session scheduled for that period.

When he turned up to the locker room, most of his teammates were already there, getting changed. Courfeyrac appeared to be in the middle of a strip-tease routine, which Marius did his best to ignore.

“I saw you talking to the new girl earlier,” said Bossuet, wriggling his eyebrows.

Marius pulled his shirt over his head to conceal his blush. “Yeah,” he said through the fabric, “her name’s Cosette. She seems nice.”

Courfeyrac made a cooing noise, but was thankfully silenced by Grantaire throwing a gym shoe at him.

“So,” said Bahorel, carefully covering his fresh piercings with a sticking plaster – why he couldn’t just get his ears pierced when the season was over, Marius had no idea – “anyone tempted to sign up for Enjolras’ decathlon team? Grantaire?”

“Fuck off,” said Grantaire. “I can’t imagine anything worse.”

Here, Courfeyrac resumed his cooing, only to be met with another gym shoe.

“How about the musical?” asked Marius, aiming to express a casual interest. “I hear that you get extra credit just for auditioning.”

“I’d also get extra credit for joining Enjolras’ decathlon team,” Grantaire pointed out, “but you don’t see me rushing to do that.”

“Then again,” said Courfeyrac, “auditioning for the musical _would_ mean spending more time with Éponine.”

“God, that makes it even less desirable,” said Bahorel. “Do you remember that time she stole your lunch money, Bossuet?”

“You have a strangely selective memory,” Bossuet replied. “I believe that she also took yours.”

“I gave it to her.”

Bossuet snorted. “Because you were scared.”

“Anyway,” Grantaire interjected, “I think that answers your question, Marius.”

Marius nodded, trying to tell himself that he didn’t feel disappointed. Why should he feel disappointed? It wasn’t like he had been considering auditioning. His mind flitted back to that surge of joy that he’d felt, singing beside Cosette in Megève. “I just thought it would be fun,” he said.

“You wouldn’t have time anyway,” said Courfeyrac reasonably. “Not with training.”

“Yeah, I think the upcoming championships should be your main concern here,” said Grantaire. “You need to get your head in the game, Marius!”

“My head _is_ in the game,” said Marius, tying a last bow on his gym shoes. His brain supplied another image of Cosette. Yes, his head was in the game. His heart, on the other hand? That was anyone’s guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the conception of "wild coqs" was probably the proudest moment of my recent history


	3. What I've Been Looking For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions climb as audition day approaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i'm sorry it's been so long since i've updated!! but apparently the solution to being blocked on this fic is to re-watch high school musical, so at least i now know this for future reference. please enjoy the chapter!!

“So how d’you know Marius?”

Cosette glanced up from her algebra problem to see that the dark-haired girl from yesterday – Éponine, she seemed to recall – was leaning towards her over the desk.

“Oh, I don’t really,” Cosette whispered in reply, not wanting to reveal Marius’ secret singing abilities without his permission. “He was showing me around; I think that he was just being friendly.”

Éponine sniffed at this. “Right,” she said, squinting at Cosette in a rather disconcerting manner. “Seems odd, though.”

“Oh? Is he not usually friendly?”

“Course he is,” hissed Éponine. The speed with which she leapt to Marius’ defence gave Cosette some clue about her true motivations in starting this conversation – apparently, Éponine was rather fond of him. “He’s usually shy, is all,” she continued. “Whatever.”

Cosette smiled weakly, hoping that it would put an end to the discussion, and turned back to her algebra questions.

“Wow!” came Éponine’s whisper again. “You’re, like, really far ahead. You must be clever.”

“Um,” said Cosette, not sure how to respond. “Thanks, I guess?”

Éponine titled her head, considering Cosette’s loopy handwriting. “Hey, can I copy?”

Cosette hesitated. “I don’t think that’s allowed,” she finally said, trying to sound apologetic. It didn’t seem like the best of ideas to make an enemy in Éponine, but it would be worse to get into trouble for helping another student to cheat in her very first week. “Besides,” she added, checking her wristwatch, “class is nearly over now.”

With a huff of resignation, Éponine removed herself from Cosette’s desk and returned to her own. It was something of a wonder that the teacher hadn’t noticed her temporary relocation, but then Éponine seemed like the sort who could get away with anything she wanted, if she put her mind to it.

 

\---

 

Not having gained anything useful from Cosette, Éponine slumped back into her seat with a frustrated groan. “She wouldn’t even let me copy,” she told Montparnasse, who was sat across from her, putting her feet up on his chair so that he had to scoot over.

“You don’t need to copy,” Montparnasse pointed out.

“Yeah but it’s the principle,” said Éponine. “And she didn’t say why she’s suddenly so chummy with Marius either.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” said Montparnasse, “I caught him looking at our audition list again this morning. Seems a bit dodgy, if you ask me.”

“He’s never been interested in our productions before,” Éponine muttered, thinking back on all the times that Marius had promised to watch her perform, and then hadn’t turned up. He usually had some excuse about basketball, or family matters, or occasionally simply claimed that he had forgotten – it was something of a sore subject with Éponine. She was sure that if he’d just come to a show; just see her up there in the spotlight doing what she did best… But never mind that.

“D’you think it’s something to do with the new girl?” asked Montparnasse, picking ponderously at his nail polish.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” said Éponine, her sight fixing on Cosette’s blonde head across the room. “She’s pretty,” Éponine observed. “In a goody-goody way. I see why he’d find her interesting. But that doesn’t explain why he’d find the musicale interesting.” She chewed a knuckle reflectively. “Smart, too. Nobody’s that perfect: I bet she’s hiding something.”

Montparnasse _hmm_ ed and removed his phone from his pocket. “Let’s google her,” he suggested. “What was her name again?”

Éponine told him, and then the two of them waited for their results to load over Montparnasse’s ridiculously slow connection. After several protracted seconds, a menagerie of links presented themselves: links to awards listings; links to spelling bee results; links to news reports on protests and charity work. It seemed like Cosette was not only bright, but also a veritable philanthropist. One article was accompanied by a sickening photograph of Cosette and an ageing man – presumably her father – handing out blankets to a group of homeless people, cheesy smiles on every face.

Letting out a low whistle, Montparnasse returned the phone to his pocket. “Fuck,” he said, “she’s like an angel or something.”

“But not an angel of music,” said Éponine. “There was no mention of the theatre, so she’s an amateur. Hardly something to worry about. Then again,” she added, her focus fixing on the classroom’s notice-board, “there would be no harm in making sure she’s integrated with more… appropriate groups.”

Montparnasse turned around to follow her gaze. On the noticeboard were several flyers in bright red, all bearing the title ‘Scholastic Decathlon Sign-ups’.

“Oh, that’s good,” said Montparnasse, turning back to Éponine with a grin.

“Isn’t it just?” she replied.

 

\---

 

As much as Cosette hated that clichéd scene in every teen movie, where the new kid eats lunch in the toilets to avoid the terror of the school cafeteria, she had to admit that she often found herself toying with the option whenever she transferred. The day before, she had been able to spend lunch period in the library under the guise of setting up her account, but today she really did have to face the tangle of tables and adolescents that awaited her.

She started off quite well: finding the cafeteria without getting lost, and queuing in the right place to buy food. It was once she had her tray that she ground to a halt – where should she sit? Ordinarily, she would have friends by now, but the only people at Musain High to whom she’d properly spoken so far were Marius and Éponine: Marius was in basketball training, and Éponine was very clearly and deliberately avoiding Cosette’s glances in her direction.

Just as Cosette was about to head to the toilets, a boy stepped into her line of sight. He was tall, blond, and managing to balance his lunch tray atop a pile of books and papers.

“You’re Cosette Fauchelevent, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Cosette, trying not to sound too confused.

The boy’s stern expression immediately melted into a smile – not quite friendly, but enthusiastic at the very least. “Hi,” he said, “I’m Enjolras, and the answer is ‘yes’.”

Cosette blinked at him a few times, trying desperately to decipher his meaning.

Enjolras must have noticed her incomprehension, as he repeated his name. “Enjolras. I’m organising the school team for the scholastic decathlon; I got your application and you would be very welcome to join us. Our first competition is next week.”

“Application?”

Nodding, Enjolras dumped his papers on a nearby table and withdrew a form from the stack. An unfamiliar hand had filled it in with Cosette’s name, and an extensive list of her previous academic and extra-curricular achievements. She was sure that she hadn’t mentioned them to anyone at Musain High.

“Where did you get this?” she asked Enjolras, inspecting the forged signature at the bottom – it wasn’t a bad approximation of her own.

“Did you not put it in my locker?”

Cosette shook her head.

“Oh,” said Enjolras. Then he shrugged, and began to gather his papers back together. “Well, you would still be a wonderful addition to the team. We meet most days after school – please do consider it.” He paused for a moment, re-balancing his tray on the mound of paper. “Do you have anybody to eat with?” he asked suddenly. “You can come and meet the rest of the team, if you like.”

It sounded better than eating alone in the toilets, and so Cosette cautiously agreed. She wasn’t convinced that joining a club would be sensible so early in her attendance, but it would do no harm to meet the club members.

Enjolras led her to a table in the far corner of the cafeteria, where a few boys were sat talking. They looked up as Enjolras approached.

“This is Cosette,” he told them, drawing up an extra pair of chairs to the table. “She might join our decathlon team.”

The boy sat next to Enjolras offered Cosette his hand to shake, which she found strangely formal but equally charming. “I’m Combeferre,” he said, smiling warmly. Cosette decided that she liked him. “And these,” he continued, gesturing to the other two boys at the table, “are Joly and Feuilly. Joly’s the one with the scarf.”

“It’s chilly out,” said Joly defensively. “And scarves are very fashionable.”

“It looks lovely,” Cosette assured him.

“Then again, he could make anything look adorable,” said Feuilly, nudging Joly. “It’s his height. And the floppy hair.”

Joly waved Feuilly away with mock-irritation, and then stole Cosette’s application form from Enjolras’ pile. “Let’s take a look,” he said.

“It’s very impressive,” Enjolras told Cosette. “What’s the most remarkable is that you have had the time to do all of this, despite moving between schools so often.”

“Speaking of which,” said Combeferre, “how is Musain High treating you so far? I’m head of the peer counselling scheme, so if you ever have any difficulties of any kind…”

“Oh, that’s really nice of you,” said Cosette. “I’m finding it lovely. And I knew one of the students prior to coming, so that was a relief. I don’t know if you know Marius Pontmercy?”

Enjolras let out a small snort at the name.

“What?” asked Cosette.

Enjolras shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “Marius and I don’t always see eye to eye. Many of his political opinions are, frankly, laughable. But I do admire that he _has_ political opinions. That’s a touch better than some of his team mates.”

“Why?” asked Cosette curiously. “What are they like?”

“Here we go,” muttered Feuilly, rolling his eyes. It seemed that this was a familiar subject to the rest of the group.

“Well,” said Enjolras, “I’m mainly speaking about Marius’ co-captain, Grantaire. I don’t know if you’ve met him yet, but he’s the one with all the hair. He seems to exist only to dispute my points in class, and then to respond with inexorable apathy whenever I ask what _he_ would have said differently.”

“He’s really not that bad,” Joly stage-whispered conspiratorially. “We all find him funny; it’s just the chief here with a chip on his shoulder.”

“To be fair,” said Combeferre, “Grantaire and Bahorel _did_ single-handedly destroy our science project in fifth grade. That’s a difficult wrong to forgive.”

“Exactly,” said Enjolras, although it was difficult to tell if he was being ironic or not.

Cosette took a mental note never to interfere with Enjolras’ science projects.

 

\---

 

Marius had found himself drawn repeatedly back to the audition sign-up sheets throughout the day, and even now that he was in his own garden shooting hoops, his mind was still dallying over the possibility: what if he _did_ put his name down? If he focused, he could still feel that rush of euphoria he’d had when singing at the ski lodge. But his teammates had made it very clear what they thought of the idea. And they were right that he should be focusing on basketball.

His thoughts were interrupted by a whoosh of air. Milliseconds later, a ball sailed past his face.

“Hello, Grandfather,” said Marius, without needing to turn around. Who else would be throwing basket balls at his head, after all?

Sure enough, Gillenormand meandered into view, chuckling to himself. “Your aunt has sent me outside to alert you of an impending meal,” he told Marius. “I’d be wary if I were you; the kitchen was rather smoky when I passed by.”

Marius nodded, taking a perfect shot as he did so.

“So,” asked Gillenormand, watching Marius collect the ball. “How’s the team doing? Looking ready for the big game?”

“Everyone’s in good form,” said Marius. “I think we’ll do well, with a little more practice.”

“Glad to hear it!” said Gillenormand, clapping Marius on the back. Gillenormand’s enthusiasm was not unprecedented: before a joint problem had put him out of action, he had been the Musain High basketball coach for years, and was still very invested in the Wild Coqs’ success. “Keep your focus on basketball and you’ll get a scholarship out of it yet, boy.”

Marius cleared his throat nervously, fully aware that lately he had not been focusing on basketball as much as he should. “Grandfather,” he said cautiously, “do you think that trying something new can be a good thing? Even if your friends don’t necessarily approve of it?”

“I don’t have any friends,” said Gillenormand, chuckling again. “Unless you count those old crones at the post office. They’re desperately infatuated with me, you know. But I don’t count them, and I don’t give a rat’s ass whether they approve of me or not.”

“So what your friends think doesn’t matter?” asked Marius.

“Well,” said Gillenormand, “if your friends are worth anything then they’ll support your decisions. Is this about a new move?”

“Sort of,” said Marius.

Gillenormand sniffed, and then clapped Marius on the back again. “Follow your instincts, boy,” he said. “Even if they’re wrong, at least you can say you tried.”

All throughout dinner, Marius’ mind lingered on this advice. Certainly, Gillenormand hadn’t a clue about Marius’ situation, but his words still had the ring of wisdom about them.

 

\---

 

Having slept on the matter, Marius woke up on Wednesday morning with a vague decision: he didn’t yet know if he would audition, but he would at least go along and watch. If everyone was amazing, he could slink away without any shame, but if he thought that none of the auditionees were particularly good, maybe he could… Well, he’d have to wait and see.

By the time free period came around, Marius was feeling jittery about the whole thing – not least because he had to give his teammates the slip _and_ to hide from Éponine, who was prowling around the stage area with a predatory expression. He was sure that if he showed himself then she would yoke him into auditioning without any preparation or warning. Instead, he concealed himself behind a tower of props at the back of the auditorium. He was only just in time, because moments later the first bell rang.

“Welcome, aspiring thespians,” said Javert, who had climbed up onto the stage and was now addressing the auditorium as if it contained a whole audience, rather than a smattering of theatrical teenagers. “I will give but a single warning: I do not take time-wasters lightly. I expect only to see serious auditions today, and shall not tolerate any messing around. If you are here to have fun, then I highly recommend that you leave.” He paused to fix the gathering of students with a stern glare, as if daring anyone to get up and go. Nobody moved.

“Good,” said Javert. “Now, there are many roles to be cast, but not all of these will be main roles. My advice is to be prepared for disappointment. Many of you will never make it in the theatrical world, and should get used to that idea now rather than later.”

As the speech went on, Marius felt his confidence draining away more and more. Javert’s take on an inspirational pep-talk was really quite something.

“Before we begin,” Javert concluded, “I’d like to introduce our composer, Jean Prouvaire. He will be accompanying your auditions on the piano, and will be available for rehearsals in the run up to the show.”

A boy with horribly clashing clothes shuffled onto the stage beside Javert – Marius vaguely knew him, although they didn’t share any classes.

Just as the first auditionee was taking their position on the stage, Cosette appeared at Marius’ side, making him jump slightly.

“Hi,” she whispered. “Why are you hiding behind these props?”

“Hiding?” said Marius, and then he remembered that he was indeed hiding. “Oh, yes. Well, I’m just watching. I don’t want anyone to think I’m going to audition. Well, I might. I probably won’t. I won’t. Are you?”

Cosette shook her head. “I just wanted to see,” she told him. “But you totally should.”

“Let’s see what the others are like first, shall we?” said Marius.

The others, it turned out, were largely awful. Student after student presented themselves before Javert, and were cut into with growing venom. It was true that many of them were off-key, or off-time, or both simultaneously but, by the fourth student reduced to tears, Marius was forced to label Javert’s judgement as ‘harsh’.

Eventually, it was the turn of the final couple to audition.

“Éponine, Montparnasse,” said Javert, “please take the floor and show your peers what they have failed to achieve.”

The pair of cousins minced onto the stage, exuding the confidence of people who are good at what they do, and know it. Éponine – who normally looked scary – appeared now positively dangerous with the stage-lights streaming onto her.

“Is she any good?” Cosette asked Marius. “She seemed very confident when she signed up.”

“I’ve never actually seen her perform,” Marius admitted.

On-stage, a small disagreement seemed to be taking place between Éponine and Jean Prouvaire.

“It’s meant to be a slow song,” Prouvaire was saying.

“I don’t care,” Éponine told him. “Montparnasse and I have been practicing it at a faster speed, and so you’re going to play it at a faster speed. It’s catchier that way.”

“It’s not supposed to be catchy, it’s–”

“Nuh-uh-uh,” Éponine interrupted, pointing a belligerent finger at Prouvaire. “Who are the stars here?”

“Well, you–”

“And who’s just the pianist?”

“Me.”

“Precisely,” said Éponine. “Now play it like I’ve told you, or you’ll be out of a job.”

Prouvaire, with a visibly reluctant expression, began to play the opening bars at an increased tempo.

Éponine took a solo for the first few lines, singing with a clear, strong voice. She was obviously enjoying herself in the limelight – at every pause she flashed a dazzling smile, and jiggled blithely along to the piano music. It was mesmerising to see her so transformed: no longer the bossy girl that Marius knew, but a real star.

Then Montparnasse joined in with the vocals, and they immediately, unexpectedly, and very impressively, launched into a dance number.

“They’re amazing,” whispered Cosette, as Montparnasse performed a sequence of jazz-squares, belting his lyrics with a peppiness of which Marius would never have thought him to be capable.

“They’re so cheery,” said Marius.

The end of the performance was greeted with distinctly bemused applause. Javert himself stood up to clap, looking happy for the first time all day. “Bravo,” he said. “Everybody: that is how it’s done.”

Éponine shot Prouvaire a very smug look as she stepped off of the stage. “Catchier,” she commented as she passed his piano.

With the auditions over, students began to trickle out of the auditorium, chattering amongst themselves.

“Are there any last-minute sign-ups?” Javert asked the receding crowds. “This is your last chance to sign up. Anybody?”

“Shall we leave?” whispered Cosette.

“No?” Javert was saying. “Good. Auditions are closed.”

Marius, hardly knowing what he was doing, stepped out from behind the tower of props. “Wait,” he said. “I’d like to audition.”

Javert raised an eyebrow, regarding Marius with an incredulous look. “Mr Pontmercy,” he said, “Have I not made it abundantly clear that I take the musicale auditions very seriously?”

“Yes,” said Marius. “I am serious, I promise.”

“And so am I,” said Cosette, appearing from behind the props too. “I’ll audition with him. If I may?”

“I’m afraid that I have just closed the auditions,” Javert informed them. “Punctuality is paramount in the world of the theatre. Perhaps by the next time that we are casting for a show, you will have learned the value of promptness.”

“But–” Marius began to object. A stern look from Javert cut him off.

“The pair of you should be getting along to your next class,” Javert told them. As if this put an end to it, he turned away, and marched out of the auditorium.

Marius was left watching after him, until Cosette gently slipped one of her hand into his.

“Come on,” she said softly, “we’ll just have to wait for next time.”

Throughout all of this, Prouvaire had been tidying away his sheet music quietly, but now he popped up from behind the piano. “It’s a shame,” he told them. “I would have liked to see someone challenge Éponine. Are you guys a match for her?”

“Cosette is,” said Marius earnestly.

“Much like you,” Cosette giggled.

Prouvaire smiled at them with a secretive air. “Would you like to have a go at singing it anyway?” he asked. “Just for fun? I’d be glad to hear it sung by someone with a modicum of talent, and at the right tempo. Éponine and Montparnasse may be good, but they did rather butcher my composition.”

“Did you compose everything on your own?” asked Marius, as he and Cosette shifted over to the piano to see Prouvaire’s lyric sheets. “The entire show?”

“Indeed I did,” said Prouvaire.

Cosette gave a little clap of appreciation. “That’s amazing.”

“It’s nothing,” said Prouvaire, but a slight flush crept onto his face at the compliment. He quickly hid it by running a hand through his hair. Then he flexed his fingers, sweeping them over the keys of the piano to find his starting point, and began to play the first notes.

Having heard the piece several times by now, Marius and Cosette knew the melody well enough to chime in with the lyrics. The three of them were soon swaying in time together, Marius and Cosette inserting improvised gestures and dance moves, until Cosette grabbed Marius’ hands and pulled him into a very bad waltz. They spun around, singing the final chorus, but it dissolved into giggles before they reached the final line. On a whim, Marius dipped Cosette quite majestically.

“That was great!” said Prouvaire.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Javert stepped forwards from where he had been lurking, unnoticed, in the doorway.

Marius nearly dropped Cosette in surprise.

“Pontmercy was sharp on the high notes,” Javert continued, “and the whole performance could do with a good polish. However, it wasn’t _bad_. Prouvaire,” he said, gesturing emphatically, “give them the duet from Act Two. They have a call-back.”

It was hard to say who looked more excited: Marius and Cosette, or Jean Prouvaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, we have all of the characters accounted for. or, that is, all of the characters that i'm using. alas, gavroche is probably a little young for high school  
> just as a side-note, the audition song is (hopefully obviously) 'what i've been looking for'. i'm sticking to hsm-canon here; it would be sacrilegious to mess with that

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed reading that, because i certainly enjoyed writing it. thank you, everyone who managed to ignore the ominous summary and read all of this. you are lovely!


End file.
